


Left to My Own Devices

by michaelandthegodsquad



Series: Drabbles and prompt fills [4]
Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Crack, Domestic, Drunk Dialing, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, maybe? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 12:06:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4828550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michaelandthegodsquad/pseuds/michaelandthegodsquad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Rhys’s birthday, there’s a party waiting for them at the club, all of Rhys’s friends were going to be there, and he was pretty sure Jack had plans to jump out of a cake at some point.</p><p>But then, as they were getting ready to head out, there was that ominous chirp from Jack’s ECHO comm.</p><p>“Oh c’mon,” Rhys whines, keys jingling in his hand. “Seriously? Tonight?”</p><p>OR: Shameless fluff in which Rhys drunk dials Jack while celebrating his birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Left to My Own Devices

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trikruklark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trikruklark/gifts).



> I...honestly can't believe I wrote this with my own two hands.
> 
> For bae, to make up for when the Sin Squad sometimes gets a little _too_ sinful.
> 
> Title from Kesha's "Your Love is My Drug."
> 
> Sections of this influenced _very_ heavily by [this comic](http://brewhay.tumblr.com/post/124746354812/cartwheelies-if-you-scrolled-down-for-an) by brewhay.
> 
> Self-beta'd, so if you notice any mistakes I'd appreciate you pointing them out to me!

The thing is, Jack was supposed to _be there_ for this, okay? It’s Rhys’s birthday, there’s a party waiting for them at the club, all of their—uh— _Rhys’s_ friends were going to be there, and he was pretty sure Jack had plans to jump out of a cake at some point.

But then, as they were getting ready to head out, there was that ominous chirp from Jack’s ECHO comm. Jack is in the middle of shrugging on his dress jacket when it comes through, and he pauses in the middle of the motion, eyes darting between Rhys and the comm. Rhys pauses too, standing by the door where he’d been waiting for Jack and urging him to hurry the hell up, bouncing on the balls of his feet in what he wouldn’t admit was excitement.

“Oh _c’mon,”_ he whines, keys jingling in his hand. “Seriously? _Tonight?_ ”

Jack groans, throwing his head back and already beginning to shrug off his fancy jacket and toss it over the back of the couch. Rhys pouts, because it had taken a _lot_ of convincing (weird kinds of convincing at that) for Jack to wear that tonight, and now it was all for nothing.

“Not like I can control it,” Jack mumbles, picking up the comm and tapping at the screen.

“So what’s the damage,” Rhys asks, dejected, shuffling his new shoes against the hardwood floor. He doesn’t even really need to ask, since he sees the way Jack’s face screws up.

“I gotta go,” Jack says, frowning. He approaches Rhys by the front door, stopping to toe off his nice shoes and slip into his worn sneakers. Rhys doesn’t even look at him as he pulls Jack’s old everyday jacket off the coat hook and hands it over; Jack hesitates, hand reaching out, before he takes the it slowly.

“Go have fun, kitten,” he says as he tugs the jacket on. “Everything’s already paid for. May as well.”

“I guess,” Rhys mumbles, pulling out his own comm to text his friends.

“Hey,” Jack says, stepping into Rhys’s space and crowding him against the wall by the front door. “None of that, c’mon.” He grasps Rhys’s chin in his hand and forces him to look up, then kisses the pout off Rhys’s lips. Rhys shuts his eyes and exhales against Jack’s mouth, but it doesn’t really help. Jack sighs, reaching into the back pocket of his pants (really _nice_ pants that Rhys had picked out for him, what the _hell_ ) to pull out his wallet. He slips a black card out of its slot, holding it between the tips of his middle and index fingers and handing it to Rhys.

“Jack, c’mon, don’t—” but Jack insists, thrusting the card at Rhys until he finally takes it in his bionic hand.

“No wounds a little bottle service can’t heal, huh Rhysie?” Jack grins and winks, but Rhys only huffs in response, smiling sort of sadly.

“Alright, kid, you’re bumming _me_ out right now with that pathetic little face. Knock it off. It’s your birthday. Get wasted or something, I don’t know, whatever you nerds do to unwind.” He leans in as if he’s going to kiss his cheek, and Rhys’s eyes widen, leaning into it, but all Jack does is blow a raspberry against the skin.

“Aw, _gross,_ stop,” Rhys says, laughing and pushing against Jack’s chest. Jack laughs right along with him, letting himself be pushed away and grabbing the car keys from the bowl by the door.

“Seriously, kiddo, let loose a little, yeah? I’ll send a car over.” He doesn’t wait for a reply, retreating through the door that leads into the garage. Rhys shuts off the light and leaves as well, sitting on the front step to wait for the car being sent over, and watching Jack pull out of the garage and down the driveway. He thumbs the credit card still in his hand and shrugs. Maybe just a bottle among friends could still be a good time, right?

~

Except it’s way more than just a bottle and a good time. It’s _several_ bottles and _several_ good times, because as soon as Yvette sees the card in Rhys’s hand she grabs for it, looking carefully at the name etched along the front with a raised eyebrow and then smirking at Rhys. Sasha, ever curious, sneaks up behind Yvette and rests her chin on her shoulder, also peering at the card. She raises _both_ eyebrows, says “Oooh,” and Yvette looks back at her, the two sharing a mischievous look before they wave down their waitress. 

She returns a few minutes later with not one or two but _three_ bottles, all with sparklers attached, drawing the attention of everyone else in the club, and in the back of his mind Rhys worries about fire hazards, but then a drink is being pressed into each of his hands and he smiles at all his friends and thinks “Fuck it,” downing them each as they cheer him on. The card has been passed on to Fiona, who’s talking to the waitress about getting even _more_ stuff while Vaughn pours another round of shots. For a moment Rhys forgets that not everyone is here, taking whatever’s handed to him and laughing at the warm feeling beginning to settle into his fingers and toes, resolving to have fun tonight no matter what.

 ~

 It’s not until a few hours later, after the bottles and the cake and the strangely captivating table dance from both Sasha _and_ Vaughn, that Rhys begins to think he may have overdone it. He’s in the bathroom, seated on the cold tile floor with his back against the wall by the locked door.

He hasn’t quite thrown up yet, riding that line between just enough and too much, and he’s having _fun,_ way more than he thought he would tonight after Jack’s comm had chirped at him earlier that evening. That almost feels like a lifetime ago already, like a distant memory in Rhys’s hazy mind. The point is he’s having a great time just like Jack told him to and he’s pretty proud of himself for not moping all night like he thought he would.

That might be the reason he decides to make the call—at least, that’s all he’ll remember later—but whatever the reason is, he surprisingly manages to dial Jack on the first try.

For a moment he thinks it’s going to ring out, but then Jack’s voice is there, gruff and sort of intimidating when he answers with “Jack here.”

“Heeeeyyyy yooouu!” Rhys slurs, his happiness at hearing Jack’s voice feeling warm and sluggish in his chest. For barely a second he imagines it as tar; then he laughs because _tar_ is a fun sounding word, isn’t it?

There’s a pause in which Jack probably looks at his comm to see who the hell it is. “...Rhys?”

“Yup!” Rhys replies, popping the - _p,_ then laughing at that sound too. Lots of funny sounds tonight. “M’at the club! S’reeeaal nice!”

Jack chuckles. “Thought you’d like it. Having fun with your little friends there?”

“Mmmmmhmmmmm,” Rhys hums into the comm, closing his eyes and resting his head against the wall. “Wish _you_ were here though. S’not the saaaame.”

There’s no laugh this time, but Jack’s voice is maybe a little softer than Rhys is used to when he says, “Yeah, I bet, cupcake.” He pauses for a moment, then sighs. “You know I _wanted_ to be there, right? I didn’t. Plan this shit out so I wouldn’t have to put on the monkey suit you picked out or hang out with your nerdy little squad. I was gonna suck it up and just go.”

Rhys’s grin is probably too wide, and he’s sure he’d be flushing if his cheeks weren’t already so red and warm with the amount he’s had to drink, but no one’s there to make fun of him for it. “S’it ‘cause you….like me?”

Jack huffs. “Yeah, sure, whatever, kiddo. I like you just fine I guess.”

“Naah, you _liiiiiiike_ meeee,” Rhys sings into the comm. Jack doesn’t quite answer but Rhys imagines he’s probably rolling his eyes when he hears him complain under his breath. “Tha’ss okay,” Rhys assures him, trying to nod but just making himself dizzy. “S’okay, cause,” he leans closer to the comm and whispers the next part, “cause I like you too. Don’t tell anyone.” He laughs, probably too loudly then, the sound echoing against the tiles in the bathroom.

There’s a sigh at the other end, followed by Jack muttering, “Christ, kid, you’re fucking shit-faced, aren’t you?”

Rhys frowns. “Maybe a little. Still.” He imagines Jack sitting at his desk, the purple glow of Elpis behind him, one hand holding the comm and the other pushing back his probably already-mussed hair. “Miss your hands though.”

“...what was that, pumpkin?”

“ _Hands,”_ Rhys repeats, this time with emphasis. “Miss your hands, dummy.”

Jack hums at the other end, voice low when he says, “Alright, _now_ we’re talking. Keep going, kitten.”

Rhys grins, trying to think of something sexy to say. “Like...when you chop stuff.”

Jack pauses then. “What?”

“Y’know. When you chop stuff. Vegeft—vegets—veggies. For uh. Dinner. And stuff. Like the way you hold the Fench knife.”

“....you like the way I hold a French knife. Alright, this isn’t going where I thought it was. Shit, Rhys, how wasted _are_ you right now?”

“SOOOO wasted,” Rhys says, voice rising in volume, making himself flinch, but he runs with it, suddenly reminded of a song he’d heard earlier that night, just as Sasha had pulled Vaughn up onto the table with her. “Because your looooove, your love, your looooove, is my druuuug,” he sings into the comm, vaguely thinking that he’s got a pretty decent singing voice. He startles when someone starts banging on the bathroom door, urging him to ‘ _quit screaming and hurry the fuck up!’_

“Son of a taint,” Jack mumbles into the comm with a sigh, and somewhere in the back of his mind Rhys knows he’s dragging his hand down his face and probably pinching at the bridge of his nose. It makes him laugh. “Alright, Rhys, you’re way too blitzed, I’m sending a car over to pick you up.”

“Jaaaack,” Rhys whines, mouth settling into a pout, “don’t wanna go yet.”

“Yeah, well, tough shit,” Jack says, leaving no room for argument. “It’ll be there in ten.” He hangs up and Rhys sighs, dragging himself up and out of the bathroom to find his friends.

 ~

 When Jack gets back later that night, every light in the house is still on. “Rhys?” he calls out from the foyer, shrugging his jacket off while toeing off his sneakers. There’s no answer except for a particularly loud snore from the living room, which is where he finds Rhys, still fully dressed and completely passed out on the couch.

“Fucking hell,” Jack says, already rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “Can’t leave you alone for two fucking seconds.”

He makes his way to the couch and hooks one arm around Rhys’s shoulders, the other behind his knees, nose scrunching up at the way he can already smell the booze on his breath. “Fucking...stupid son of a…” he mutters, hefting Rhys off the couch with a grunt, “dumb. Fucking loser.”

Jack carries Rhys to their bedroom, dropping him unceremoniously onto the bed. “Goddamn idiot, can’t even undress himself before he passes out on the fucking couch.” He pulls Rhys’s stupidly fancy shoes off his feet, rolling his eyes at his [cupcake-printed socks](http://www.alwaysfits.com/index.php/birthday-cat-socks-women-s-crew-socks-by-sock-it-to-me.html), scowling at the cat on them waving and saying “Happy Birthday!”

“Goddamn...fucking...piece of shit _nerd,_ ” Jack grumbles, leaving the socks on and unbuckling Rhys’s belt, pulling his pants off and tossing them onto the floor. His jacket and shirt are the last to go before Jack digs through a drawer in the nightstand to find the unlock tool for Rhys’s arm. “Fucker couldn’t even take the arm off. _Asshole._ Making me do all this goddamn work.” He gets the arm off and sets it on the table to charge, during which time Rhys promptly rolls over and starts drooling onto Jack’s pillow.

“Son of a—” Jack hurriedly undresses himself and gets into bed beside Rhys, shoving him back to his side of the bed and flipping over the pillow to the dry side before settling in. Rhys immediately turns back over and lays half on top of Jack, one long leg sprawled over him. Jack grunts. “Happy fucking birthday, moron,” he says quietly. Rhys sniffles in his sleep but doesn’t reply.

 ~

 When Rhys wakes up the following afternoon, he feels less like roadkill and more like...something worse than roadkill, he can’t even think of a good analogy.

He drags himself out of bed in search of coffee and finds Jack making lunch for himself in the kitchen, seeming _way_ too awake for Rhys to deal with right now.

“Morning, sunshine!” Jack says brightly, _loudly,_ and Rhys groans against the throbbing in his head, glancing at the time.

“It’s three in the afternoon, Jack.”

“Oh, good, so you _can_ tell time. I thought maybe you couldn’t, since, y’know, you slept through the whole fucking morning.”

Rhys groans again, settling into a stool and resting his forehead on the cool surface of the island. Jack slides a mug full of coffee into his hand and he grunts out his gratitude.

“So,” Jack says, leaning onto the counter, and Rhys can tell just from his tone that he’s got that shit-eating grin on his face. “Have fun last night? Anything interesting happen?”

Rhys thinks on that for a moment, then smiles to himself as he remembers what he and his friends got up to. “I guess. Probably.”

Jack hums. “You _guess_? Hm. Guess that’s why you had to call me, huh? Liven up the party a little?”

“I—what?”

At first the only reply Rhys gets is Jack’s cackling laughter. “I can’t _believe_ you drunk dialed me from a club bathroom. Fucking priceless.”

The only thing Rhys can think to do is groan again and maybe vow to never drink again, but who does he think he’s kidding, exactly? “That’s great. Just great,” he grumbles into the granite. “Glad you got a good laugh out of it. I’m gonna go die now.” He takes the mug and moves to stand.

“Uh uh, not yet,” Jack chides. He reaches into the microwave and retrieves a plate stacked with pancakes, dropping them in front of Rhys with a _thud._ “Eat up, princess. You made me miss out on what would’ve been _fantastic_ birthday sex and you’ll need your strength if you’re gonna make it up to me.”

Rhys wants to glare at him but as he looks at the coffee and pancakes that Jack apparently had _waiting_ for him, all he can do is grin. “Why, Jack,” he says, pausing for dramatic effect, “if I didn’t know any better I’d say that you _liked me._ ”

Jack groans, says, “Fucking _hell,”_ and throws a fork at Rhys, who laughs and immediately digs in.

**Author's Note:**

> Come harass me on [Tumblr](http://michaelandthegodsquad.tumblr.com/) and find out how you can get me to write stuff for you.


End file.
